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“Why’d you say so? He’s charismatic, he’s rich, he’s good-looking, what more do you want?”
I sigh and throw my head back on Abbie’s pillow. “I don’t know. Well, I do know. It’s just...” I trail off and look away, biting my lip glumly.
“Sheesh, girl, make up your mind, will you?”
“I like him. A lot.”
“Then go for him.”
“I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“Well, for starters, I don’t want to commit.”
“Because of your parents?”
I nod, stifling the urge to cry again.
“Oh, honey, I understand how you feel. Really, I do.”
“I’m scared I’m going to end up like them. Heck, I’m scared of even having to commit. I mean, the thought of having to spend my entire life with someone is the scariest thing ever. Please tell me you understand, Abbie.”
“Perfectly. I understand perfectly, Noelle. However, the only thing I can say is that you’re the only one in control of your life. Not your parents, or me, or Maverick. It’s just you, babe. And whatever decision you make out of this should never compromise with your happiness, because you deserve to be happy, Noelle.”
I nod. I know she is right. I just don’t know if I’m strong enough to take the leap. “Thank you,” I say, smiling at Abbie.
“Anytime.” Then with a grunt, she pushes back the covers to show me the nasogastric feeding tube sticking out from her flat stomach. “By the way, see this? It’s so cool. I’m like preggy but without no bump.”
Laughing, I lean in to stare at it. “Does it hurt?”
“Nope.”
“When do you think you’re going to be out of it?”
“Dunno. We’ll have to wait for the doc.”
“I feel bad for you, Abbie.”
“Why?”
“Hospitals have shitty foods.”
She gives me a bemused look. “Who says I’m planning to eat that crap?”
***
I’ve been with the doctor and we’re both monitoring Abbie’s post-meal rounds. Her meal plans are basic and heavy on a lot of calories, which will, over the next few days, build up to the stipulated twenty-five hundred plus calories. She has also been placed on a refeeding menu for around three weeks. Because it’ll be her first solid meal prep since regaining consciousness, it’s directly sourced from the hospital cafeteria, much to my best friend’s visible distaste.
Dr. Faber has also brought in a nurse to watch her for a specified period of time. The evaluation on Abbie’s mental and physical health means she’ll be on bedrest until she has clearance.
Which won’t be for at least six to eight weeks.
She holds my hand when she’s administered a sleeping sedative and, before I leave, the kind dietician, with a kinder smile, promises to update me on her progress.
It’s nighttime when I finally reach my apartment. I’m tired but a little fulfilled. I told Maverick hours ago that he was dismissed from chauffeur services. He tried to argue with me but relented when I told him I’d let him know if I needed anything and that I’d let him know when I got home.
Stepping on to the porch, I notice the familiar cardboard box next to a beautiful bouquet of tulips at my front door.
